


Interruption

by KittieHill



Series: On Edge [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Caught, Edging, Interrupted, M/M, Masturbation, Masturbation Interruptus, Poor John, Sherlock Being Sherlock, workplace masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-20
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-04-10 08:31:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4384718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittieHill/pseuds/KittieHill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John wants to orgasm. Sherlock wants to interrupt. </p><p>Big thank you to sherlockholmesconsultingvampire for beta'ing my nonsense.</p><p>PLEASE COMMENT!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Interruption

If John didn’t know better, he’d think that Sherlock was doing it on purpose.

John lay on his back in his bed, the covers wrapped around his legs where he had kicked them off after waking with his usual morning erection. He had been dreaming, he wasn’t sure of the specifics but it had involved chasing a suspect around London and then coming home to Baker Street, then being ravaged by Sherlock who pinned him in his chair by straddling him before fucking him so hard that they both ached.

He had long ignored the moral issues of masturbating over his asexual flatmate. A little bit of fantasy never hurt anybody.

Wrapping his hand around his cock, he had stroked himself slowly, building his arousal to a burning and desperate need as his hips rocked up to meet his fist. Precum dripped over his skin and down into the bush of sandy hair as he chased his climax, _closer, closer, closer._

“John? Get up! I need your help!” Sherlock’s voice rang up the stairs, sounding slightly panicked. Never a good sign.

John jumped up from his bed, pulling on his pants, pyjama bottoms and dressing gown before rushing down the stairs, forgetting how close he was to his orgasm.

“What? What’s the matter?” John asked, looking around the flat for the cause of Sherlock’s evident panic laced voice.

“We need milk for tea,” Sherlock shrugged. “Pop to the shops?”

* * *

 

After going to the shops and following Sherlock onto a fraud case through Lestrade, John sighed and informed Sherlock that he was going into the shower. The detective barely gave a reaction to indicate he had heard John speak, which was probably for the best considering the urgent need to cum which had been building inside him all day. Sherlock had been on sparkling form, managing to solve the case within the hour whilst also insulting Anderson until the smug bastard was a trembling mess.

John squirted some of Sherlock’s expensive conditioner into his hand and curled his fingers around his plumped up shaft. A soft sigh escaped his lips as the first tendrils of pleasure leapt up and down his spine, electric shocks shivering through his limbs as he teased his prick to full hardness whilst running a thumb across his slit.

His hips began to pump into his vice like grip, soft pants escaping his lips as he reached the very edge of sensitivity and the tightening of his bollocks signalled his pending climax.

A smash of glass startled him into stopping and listening; footsteps crept closer to the door before Sherlock’s voice rumbled through the wooden partition, “Erm… John? I may need medical help.”

John swore under his breath, feeling his erection slowly receding as he climbed from the tub and wrapped a towel around himself and left to deal with Sherlock’s cut open hand.

* * *

 

It was completely unprofessional, John realised as he locked his consulting room door and sat back in his chair, flicking open his button and pulling down his zip. He definitely shouldn’t be doing this at work, when he had patients in less than thirty minutes but he was becoming desperate. Twice he had been close to orgasm only to have it cruelly snatched away by his mad bastard of a flatmate, and his balls were beginning to ache from the edging he had unconsciously been forced into.

Ripping open a satchet of lube, John smeared it into his hands and began to stroke his rapidly hardening cock; sighing and groaning happily at the first pleasurable feelings which rushed over him as he focussed on the head, his other hand moving down to cup his bollocks and roll them around, feeling their heavy weight from days of denial.

Letting his head fall back onto the back of the chair he sighed heavily and closed his eyes, imagining that his hand was somebody else's, long, pale fingers wrapping around his straining and red tipped flesh as he was brought closer and closer to relief.

The phone ringing startled him from his fantasy; the number said reception and John realised he would need to answer it otherwise the girls may become suspicious and decide to investigate. Lifting the receiver, John cleared his throat and gave a ragged, ‘Hullo?’

“Ah, Dr Watson, we have a man here causing a bit of fuss in the waiting room. Demanding to see you.”

“Tell him to make an appointment,” John grumbled unhappily, desperately wanting to return to his self pleasure. His hand had slowly continued to stroke his erection to ensure it stayed hard which felt insanely wrong and filthy whilst talking to the pretty receptionist.

“He said he’s your flatmate and something about a murder? That it’s at least an 8.” The girl sounded confused and rather scared.

John sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose with the previously lubed hand, smelling his own arousal on his fingertips as he grumbled, “I’ll be right out.”

* * *

 

Her name was Leanne, they had met in a coffee shop on the way to John’s work and she was pretty. They had arranged to go out on a date to the cinema which had gone brilliantly and resulted in a passionate snog which rapidly turned into something more filthy and desperate. Standing behind the cinema in the shadows, Leanne had pushed her body against John’s, grinding herself against his hardness as they kissed. John tangled his hands into her long, red hair as his tongue probed her mouth again and again, his cock fit to burst in his trousers making him momentarily worried he might cum in his pants like a teenage virgin.

The sound of his mobile interrupted them; John’s stomach lurched and he pulled away momentarily to check the caller name. Of course.

**Sherlock calling**

“Sorry,” John smiled regrettably, ignoring the call and replacing it into his pocket. “Ignore him, he’ll go away.”

Leanne gave a soft smile and arched her head to give access to her neck, as John quickly sucked and nibbled on the pale flesh, slightly yellow tinged from the streetlamps which shone down on them as they kissed. His phone stopped vibrating and then started once more, repeating over and over until John had counted eight missed calls.

“Shouldn’t you get that?” Leanne asked, biting her lower lip.

“God, no,” John laughed softly. “I'd rather kiss you.”

Leanne flushed and continued to grind herself into John’s cock, her hand moving down to cup him and caress him through the thick fabric of his jeans.

“Oh, that’s my phone,” Leanne mumbled as she grabbed her own mobile and frowned at the withheld number. Swiping the screen she lifted it to her ear and gave a quiet, “Hello?”

“Please pass me over to John Watson,” a deep voice ordered from her phone, making her pull back and look at John startled.

“It’s for you?” Leanne whispered, obviously stunned as she handed John the phone and watched the doctor take a lungful of air before putting the phone to his ear.

“What?” John shouted angrily.

“Why are you ignoring me?” Sherlock asked.

“I’m busy!” John insisted. “What do you want?”

“Mycroft said to tell you that you’re in full view of CCTV,” Sherlock continued, seemingly unaware at just how _not good_ this particular act was.

John scowled up at the CCTV camera and gave it a two fingered salute before sighing. “What do you need, Sherlock?”

“It doesn’t matter if you’re going to be short with me, John.” Sherlock obviously pouted over the phone. “I wanted to know if you would be interested in going to Angelo’s but forget it.”

The dial tone informed John that Sherlock had hung up. John handed the phone back to Leanne who looked on in shock. “Erm… how did he get my number?”

John took a deep breath before trying to change the subject. “Shall we go have something to eat?”

“You can," Leanne seethed, putting her phone away and turning on her heels. “Don’t call me. Better still, don’t have your friends call me.”

“Leanne, I’m sorry,” John tried, “Let me walk you home.”

“No thanks,” Leanne replied as she turned her back and walked to the main road, leaving John standing flaccid and angry in an alleyway.

* * *

 

John sighed as he sat back in his chair and sipped at his whisky. It wasn’t often that he drank, what with the Watson family history but he decided to indulge himself in a celebration as Sherlock was out of the flat and down at Bart’s, probably harassing the corpses and poor Molly. Rubbing his half hard prick through his jeans and rolling his shoulders he relaxed into the embrace of his chair as he focussed on finally being able to finish. He hadn’t had an orgasm in almost a week and his whole body seemed to ache for the feelings; he hadn’t been this high strung since the first weeks of the army when he was unused to attempting stealthy wanks in the barracks or showers.

He unzipped himself and quickly took himself in hand, letting his trousers fall to his ankles along with his pants as he bared himself completely naked. He had locked the door to ensure he didn’t give Mrs Hudson a fright and in a simple attempt to keep Sherlock out.

Wrapping his hand around the sensitive glans he groaned and arched his back. The head of his cock was so sensitive after being teased for so long without relief, his whole body seemed to thrum with energy as he flicked his wrist and teased out more precum to lubricate his strokes. He closed his eyes, thinking about various lovers he'd had in the past but each female face eventually merged into Sherlock’s. Black curls, pale skin and cerulean eyes floated in his mind's eye as he imagined Sherlock laying naked on his bed doing the same thing as John himself was doing.

John didn’t know if Sherlock masturbated, it wasn’t exactly something they had discussed over morning tea but John would have loved to see Sherlock lose control of his amazing mind. The detective would be a panting and sweating mess, his hips thrusting up to meet each stroke of his hand over sensitive flesh whilst his ever observant eyes would be clamped shut, his bow lips being worried between perfectly white teeth as his long violin callused fingers teased his cock and his nipples at the same time. A soft sigh escaping his throat as he bucked up, getting closer to his peak.

John knew he was close, could feel the first dizzying build of climax flooding through his body. He opened his eyes and was met with the view of Sherlock sitting opposite him, perfectly composed in his tailored suit with his hands clasped together. Only two spots of pink on his cheekbones to indicate that he wasn’t a figment of John’s desperate mind.

“Yes, John,” Sherlock nodded. “I do.”

John frowned, his hands stopping their movements grudgingly.

“Do what?” John asked.

“Touch myself,” Sherlock whispered, his voice deeper than John had ever heard. “Although, I like to edge myself. Tease myself to the point of orgasm and then stop, again and again.”

“Why?” John groaned out. Attempting to cover his genitals with his palms.

“It’s more intense. Why do you think I’ve been interrupting you all week?” Sherlock smiled coyly. “I want you to feel what I feel.”

John swallowed audibly, gulping around the lump which had formed in his throat.

“Take your hand John, and put it back on your cock,” Sherlock whispered, popping the k as he watched John’s pupils dilate further until there was only a slight band of colour around the black.

“Sherlock,” John attempted to argue but his hand was already cupping his crotch, teasing it back to full hardness.

“Stroke, firmly but slowly. Tease yourself, enjoy the pleasure and _feel._ _”_ Sherlock extended the word, staring into John’s face instead of focussing on his cock. “Buck your hips up, that’s it, fuck your fist.”

John’s head spun with Sherlock’s cursing and coarse language. He had never heard Sherlock swear before and the allure was going straight to his prick as he stroked harder and faster, his hips thrusting up and his teeth biting his bottom lip as his pleasure grew to worrying levels making John wonder if you could have an aneurism from orgasms.

“Harder, faster, that’s it,” Sherlock soothed, his own cock pressing against the fabric of his expensive trousers. “Keep going, John, chase the sensation. Feel it flowing through your body.”

“Oh fuck… oh Christ, Sherlock,” John groaned, his eyes rolling back as the pleasure built. “Please...”

“John, look at me,” Sherlock insisted, his eyes glaring at John’s face until the doctor opened his eyes and met his best friends gaze. “Come for me.”

John arched his back and began to pant desperately, his eyes rolling back in his head as his hips stuttered and froze. He was vaguely aware of screaming Sherlock’s name before ribbons of cum exploded from his prick and covered his body from chin to navel. Streams of hot, musky cum soaked through his shirt onto his skin as he cried out in pleasure at the most intense orgasm of his life.

“That’s it,” Sherlock whispered, his hand against his own cock. “That’s it.”

“Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock,” John chanted as his body began to tremble and judder. His brain had clicked offline and he could only remember his friend's name as he lazily blinked and smiled. “God.”

“Feel better?” Sherlock asked, watching John nod exhaustedly.

“Good. I suggest you shower and then go to sleep,” Sherlock whispered with a smile. “And tomorrow, if you want to stop this charade that we’re not attracted to one another, I’ll be in my room.”

“Why wait until tomorrow?” John smiled, pulling off his shirt and cleaning off his skin before grabbing Sherlock’s hand and pulling him towards his bedroom.


End file.
